


Rain and Romance

by LadyDrace



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Figures out His Feelings, Feelings, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hank Anderson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Happy Ending, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, POV Hank Anderson, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Connor has been researching romance.Hank has been tweezing.They both get caught in the rain.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 28
Kudos: 125





	Rain and Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the hankcon discord for cheerleading through this, thank you guys! <3
> 
> Unbetaed, but fairly thoroughly edited.

The rain comes sudden and heavy, in a way that gives Hank flashbacks to the environmental panic the world faced a couple of decades ago, before finally getting humanity’s collective shit together. It’s still up in the air whether they’ll ever fully reverse the damage done, but for the last six to ten years the weather has been stabilizing to a point where most people almost forget how close they all still are to destroying the entire planet.

Almost.

“Fuck,” he gasps, as the icy cold stabs of sharp water droplets hit him squarely in the face, and he darts towards the nearest bus stop for shelter. The car is a block away, of course, because even with about half the city’s cars being automated Detroit City’s parking somehow never improved.

He shakes water out of his hair, and hates how his bushy eyebrows stubbornly cling to the drops there. Once he passed fifty, his hair just seemed to go nuts. He’d been expecting graying and baldness. What he got instead was hair in all the places he _didn’t want_ _it_. Ears, back, the tip of his fucking _nose_ , what the _hell_. In his youth he was self conscious, sure, but more about his weird, long limbs and his teeth. Those stopped bothering him as much when he devoted more and more of his mental energy to case solving, and – later – to grief.

But fuck it all, he’s tweezing now. He owns a pair of tweezers, and he _tweeze_ _s_. His grandpa is definitely cackling in the afterlife somewhere with his own hairy ears and shaggy eyebrows. Hank flips him the mental bird, and reminds himself to trim his stupid, tangled brows when he gets home later.

It has nothing what so ever to do with being partnered with the smoothest, neatest motherfucking android in existence. Nope. Not even a little bit.

All androids are painfully neat – at least prior to deviancy – but it’s like Connor was given no leeway for _any_ kind of imperfection. He doesn’t have a single follicle out of place, and Hank hates it. He hates it a lot. But not nearly as much as he hates himself for what it does to him.

It’s not even just that it reminds him that he used to be a guy who was attracted to people, or that it gives him a sometimes almost violent urge to reach out and _mess Connor up_ somehow. No, the part he really hates is how it makes him see _himself_.

He’s never had the best self-image, but his life eventually focused on other things enough that looking in the mirror became a perfunctory act to ensure he was presentable and not much else. But now… now Hank _looks_ at himself. And he hates how he looks standing next to Connor. Hank’s never been a looker, but he can clean up if he has to. Connor, however, is an 11, without even breaking a sweat. Hank is… very much not. Never has been, never will be.

Turns out working side by side with literal perfection isn’t good for your body image. Who’d have guessed.

“Are you alright?” Connor asks, sauntering towards him, uncaring of the pelting rain pouring in rivulets down his slick suit. Hank glares at him.

“You sure you’re not gonna rust or something?” he grumbles, and brushes as much water off his jacket as he can before it soaks in too much.

“I’m designed to be entirely waterproof, Lieutenant,” Connor says with that small, crooked grin that tells Hank he’s being a little shit. “But _should_ moisture somehow enter into my biocomponents, it would not damage me in any way, as thirium is highly aquaphobic.”

Hank glares at him some more.

“It means-”

“I know what it means, asshole. And okay, so you can’t rust, but would you get out of the fucking rain anyway? I feel like I’m catching a goddamn cold just _looking_ at you.”

“Of course,” Connor says. He sounds sincere, but Hank’s bullshit detector is still going off. And, sure enough, Connor only _just_ steps under the roof. And then just stands there, dripping. Doesn’t even shake the water off his suit, which must also repel water to a degree since it doesn’t seem to be soaking much.

Hank’s not sure what stunt Connor is pulling right now, but it’s one hundred percent meant to tick Hank off somehow. And it’s _working_.

They stand there for a while, watching the rain as it only gets more intense. The streets empty of people in seconds, and the water falls so densely that it’s almost hard to make out the buildings across the street. Hank has had _showers_ with less water pressure than this.

“How about this weather, huh,” he says, mostly to himself, and spends a minute painfully aware of how old he is, because _who says shit like that_ , except maybe ancient farmers who spend too much time with livestock to remember how to talk with _people_.

Connor is great at small talk, at least with people he doesn’t know. It was literally part of his programming to integrate. But programming and personality are not the same thing, so after deviating – when he started to really show his personality – it’s become clear that he also just suffers from a severe case of _no filter_. Case in point...

“I’ve been studying romance,” he says, as if that’s something completely normal to say out of the blue.

Hank snorts. “Oh yeah? And what’ve you found out so far?”

Connor frowns at the rain, as if it’s debating him on his thesis. “That humans and androids alike seem to be immensely preoccupied with it, sometimes to the point of self-destruction.”

Bleak, but not untrue. “Shit, I hope you didn’t spend too long on figuring _that_ out. I coulda saved you some time on that by just taking you to the movies.”

“I agree that the film industry also seems overly focused on romance. In fact, I’ve spent the last three nights analyzing various examples of cinematic romance. Since I don’t sleep it seemed a good way to spend the time.”

Hank blinks slowly as he translates that in his head. “You’ve been binge-watching Hallmark movies for three days?”

“Nights,” Connor corrects him. “And only some of them were produced by Hallmark. In any case, I’ve formed a few theories.”

“I’m sure you have,” Hank says, shaking his head fondly, and then folding his arms over his chest, leaning against the side of the shed, and settling in for one of Connor’s habitual infodumps. “Well. Let’s hear it.”

Still only looking at the rain, Connor shifts minutely, his shoulders tightening. A move Hank recognizes as Connor being on the defensive and ready to argue his point – fiercely, if necessary. Huh. It felt like just weird small talk at first, but maybe this is somehow important to Connor. Hank decides to try his best not to be an asshole for a minute.

“Firstly, for all that human media proclaims that happy endings are vital to a romance story, there sure are a lot of romantic movies with the explicit purpose of making people sad to watch them.”

“Yeah,” Hank says with a shrug. “We humans don’t make sense a lot of the time.”

“Secondly, considering how much both humans and androids disagree amongst each other, there’s a remarkable consensus of what is and is not romantic.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Devotion. Selflessness. Favors of a personal nature. Self-sacrifice. These are concepts I find entirely logical as signs of love. Other factors are… less so, in my opinion.”

Hank huffs. “Yeah, don’t get me started on the gray area of consent in a lot of those movies.”

“I agree, there does seem to be a disturbing trend of women in particular giving in after enough pressure, with no apparent benefit to anyone except the person doing the pressuring. But that’s not overly surprising considering the number of male film makers opposed to the number of female and non-binary.”

“Well, shit, you really did do some in-depth analysis, huh? You’re probably right. I never studied film, I was too busy going to concerts, so I wouldn’t know.”

Connor quirks a tiny smile, like he does more and more these days, to the great distress of Hank’s goddamn heart.

“For someone who claims to not know much about the subject, you certainly have… opinions,” he says, and Hank shrugs. There’s no denying he’s an argumentative bastard by nature.

“However, that’s not what I was referring to. Acts of affection are, like I said, perfectly logical to consider romantic. But then there are other things… like–” he looks up at the pitch-black sky, still spilling water by the buckets. “Like rain.”

Hank casts a glance upwards too, and wrinkles his nose in annoyance at how it seems unlikely to ease up anytime soon. “Yeah, well. Like I said, we humans are fucking weird sometimes.”

He looks back at Connor to find shining, brown eyes fixed squarely on him.

“You don’t understand it either?”

“Well. Hm,” Hank hedges, not sure he’s comfortable with a conversation like this, especially with those particular eyes boring into his damn soul. “I guess… I guess I can sorta see why.”

Connor doesn’t move, but Hank somehow still gets the feeling that he inches closer somehow. “Would you be willing to explain it to me, Lieutenant?”

Crap. This is clearly important to Connor for some reason, so if Hank says no, he’ll feel like an asshole. And deserve it too, it’s an innocent enough question. But if he starts this conversation there’s no knowing if he’ll let something slip. He’s done undercover work several times in his career, and he can still easily put on an act – though these days it’s usually the act of looking like a functioning human being – but Connor is a detective in his own right. And worse, he _knows_ Hank.

No matter how careful Hank is, there’s a not insignificant risk that he’ll blow his cover and get his unwelcome feelings all over Connor when he should be trying to help him find his humanity or whatever.

“Please?” Connor asks, oh so softly, and he’s definitely moved a little bit closer, Hank would bet his badge on it.

There’s a droplet of water trickling from Connor’s perfect left eyebrow. Hank can’t help but trace it with his eyes, and – in doing so – kinda forgets for a hot second what he was debating himself out of, here.

“It’s about putting yourself out there, you know?” he mutters, still pretty absorbed in following that droplet as it travels down Connor’s temple, down his cheek and neck, finally disappearing into his collar. “I don’t mean like, wet t-shirt competition or anything here – though I’m sure there’s enough of that going around too. But it’s more like… it’s cold and miserable and I forgot to bring a jacket, but… it’s more important to be here with you.”

He realizes only as he says it that he’s not telling it like a story. He’s saying it like _he’s_ the one saying it. Like _Connor_ is the one he’s saying it _to_.

Goddammit, he’s fucked.

But right now it doesn’t seem like Connor takes it as such. His brows furrow, making another droplet escape. Right side, this time.

“I don’t… feel the cold,” Connor says slowly, turning again to face the rain. He lifts his hand, palm up, and reaches it outside the shelter to be pelted with freezing rain. “Not the way humans do, anyway. I register the cold, but there’s no discomfort in it. Is it still considered romantic to be in the rain if it’s of no disadvantage?”

“Well. I mean, I guess,” Hank says, slowly allowing the terrified knot in his chest to unclench slightly. “I’m not an expert or anything.”

Connor casts him a sideways look, that nevertheless feels like it stares into Hank’s fucking brain. “I’m not asking an expert. I’m asking you. What do you think?”

Fuck, Hank is in a bind here. He doesn’t want to seem like an asshole and just stop this whole damn conversation, because who else can Connor ask these things? It’s not like he’s even close with anyone, except maybe Markus and a few other androids who – bless their deviant asses – wouldn’t know a human emotion from food poisoning yet. It’s still early days after the revolution.

But, god, it really is getting more and more difficult to keep those goddamn human emotions in check.

“Well, uh...” he says, stalling for time, and watching how Connor’s slightly cupped palm rapidly fills with water and then spills over. Especially when wet it’s painfully obvious that android skin is not natural. The way the water forms droplets and rivulets just screams _smooth surface_ in a way no human skin does. Which somehow only makes it more mesmerizing to watch, and Hank’s eyes keep getting drawn to it, while he comes up with something neutral, yet useful, to tell Connor.

“I think a lot of people find it… attractive.”

“They find rain attractive?”

“No, I mean… what it _does_ to you. When you’re wet you’re kinda… washed clean. Your nice hairdo is ruined, your makeup is gone, the outfit you picked to hide your flab now sticks to you, showing it all. The pretense is gone, you know?”

“And humans find that attractive?” Connor asks, eyes fixed on the rainy sky again.  
  
Hank shrugs, praying that’s the end of the conversation. “Some do, sure.”

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because Connor immediately turns to face Hank, his hand dropping down to his side, water dripping from his sleeve.

“Do you?”

Hank snorts. “I don’t find anything romantic. I’m on the wrong side of fifty for that.”

“ _Hank_ ,” Connor says in a tone of voice that, _somehow_ , illustrates simultaneously how he’s fully aware that Hank was lying just now, and also how he’s a little bit hurt that Hank feels like he needs to lie about this, and, additionally, making it abundantly clear that he will be very annoyed if he’s lied to again about this.

Fuck, they’ve definitely been spending way too much time together lately.

Enough time that Hank knows for a fact that nothing ruins his day more than Connor being silently upset, which he _will_ be if Hank gives him the brush-off about this.

Connor isn’t usually one to get easily upset. Confused, sure. Upset? No. He only really seems to be upset when he asks Hank personal questions and Hank snaps at him.

Which seems to happen every other day right now, what the fuck.

Maybe Connor is developing some kind of unhealthy attachment from spending every hour of the day with Hank and, honestly, he can hardly imagine a worse person for Connor to latch on to.

But that’s a tomorrow problem. Right now Connor is still giving him the pleading eyes, and they are rapidly eroding every wall Hank is desperately trying to hammer together to hide behind. Fuck.  
  
“Okay, yes. Yes, I do find that attractive, alright? It’s nice to just scrape off all the bullshit sometimes. See what real people look like. Fucking Instagram filters ruining the idea of what’s normal anymore,” he grumbles, aware that he’s really showing his age, since Instagram went the way of the dodo at least ten years ago, now.

There’s a tense moment of Connor staring him down, clearly trying to decide if he’s telling the truth or not, before he just… steps out into the rain. Just a single step away from the roof, but enough that he’s fully in the downpour. Hank’s jaw falls open slightly, as he tries to figure out what the actual hell is going on right now.

“I don’t wear makeup,” Connor says. “My hair stays this way whether it’s wet or dry. My clothes are somewhat hydrophobic as well,” he says, taking a few steps in Hank’s direction while staying in the rain. “I don’t think I can fulfill those criteria, Hank.”

The use of his first name doesn’t pass Hank by, and he snaps his jaw shut as Connor comes to a stop directly in front of him, the rain like a curtain between them as realization hits that this is actually a serious matter.

“Connor... have you been fucking researching how to actually romance someone?!”

“Clearly not very effectively,” Connor says, looking almost exactly like a sad puppy, rain pouring down his face like a bad CGI effect in a shitty movie, where some macho douchebag needs rain to conceal his crying.

God, the mere idea of Connor crying makes Hank want to commit actual murder on his behalf. Fuck his life. This unhealthy attachment clearly goes both ways.

Hank rubs a hand over his face, going extra hard on the damn eyebrows. “Gah. Connor, that’s not… that’s not how you romance someone! You don’t do _research!_ You read the room! You get to know the person, find out what they’re into, and if they seem to like you, then you can try for more!”  
  
“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then maybe they’re just not into you!” Hank cries, though the idea that anyone could meet Connor even once and not be instantly infatuated is beyond him. “Or you haven’t been clear enough, I don’t fucking know!”

Whoever this person is, they must be incredibly dim.

“So far my overtures haven’t yielded the desired result,” Connor says, still sounding like he’s writing a science paper and not handling _his love life_. “Any suggestions, Hank?”

“Christ, I dunno!” Hank really wants this conversation over now, so he can go home and wallow a little over Connor clearly having expended quite some effort in wooing some ungrateful asshole who can’t see what a treasure they’re being given.

“There’s one final aspect of my research I haven’t tried yet.”

  
“Then maybe go try that then,” Hank says, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He wants to go home and pluck his fucking ear hairs now.

There’s a couple of seconds of tense air and rain between them, and then, out of fucking nowhere, Connor’s hand finds the nape of Hank’s neck, and pulls gently until he can press their lips together, their faces meeting just on the boundary between wet and dry.

Jesus Christ.

_Hank_ is the ungrateful asshole. And also a _moron_.

Connor hesitates, clearly interpreting Hank’s shock as dislike of the proceedings, and starts to slowly move back. Hank is not about to let that happen however, not in a million years, and he surges into the freezing rain to bring Connor back, both arms locking around him as he reclaims those unreal smooth lips.

Water runs down Hank’s nose as he tilts his head and coaxes Connor’s mouth open, and is rewarded with a surprised little sound of pleasure as he deepens the kiss.

This has unhealthy and co-dependent written all over it, but right now Hank is delirious enough to not care. He’s having his most deeply ignored desires suddenly fulfilled, and it’s like being drunk, the way it used to feel before it became a coping mechanism.

Connor’s hands tangle in Hank’s hair, and he can’t help but shiver at the feeling. Sadly, his shiver makes Connor break the kiss in order to catch his eye in question. “Are you cold?”

“No,” Hank lies, and goes back for more. Because who cares about details like being cold?

Gratifyingly, Connor seems very distracted by the kissing, which gives Hank a tiny glow of smugness. Damn, he’s still got it. But, eventually, Hank does get cold enough for his body to give a genuine shiver, and Connor disengages again, though he does keep his hands where they are, scritching deliciously across Hank’s scalp.

“You’re freezing. We should get you home.”

“Home. Yeah,” Hank says, dazed from kissing far more than he’s bothered by the weather.

Connor cracks a tiny smile that does violent things to Hank’s insides and punches the air right out of his lungs.

“ _Home_ ,” he says. Like it means something special, and… okay, Hank really needs to just hand in his badge at this point.

But Hank didn’t become the highly decorated cop he is without a solid gut feeling to guide him, and so far it’s never done him wrong. And right now? His gut is telling him that this is all kinds of right and good.

And that’s good enough for Hank.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go home.”

End.


End file.
